Facing It
by Catch
Summary: Harm makes a visit to the wall.
1. Facing It

Title: Facing It  
Author: Catch  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Harm makes a visit to the wall.  
Disclaimer: They're not mine. DPB owns them. Blah, Blah...  
Spoilers: Nothing specific, but everything's fair game.  
AN: This is just a short piece inspired by the poem of the same name our AP English class read the other day. The poem's included afther the fic. I'm thinking about doing a series of stories about the same scene, but from different points of view. Let me know if you think I should.  
"Facing It"  
  
I've stood in this spot hundreds of times. Sometimes I talk to the name in front of me, other times I just stand and think. Everyone knows I come here every Christmas Eve, but most people don't know just how often I visit. Maybe one person, but she hasn't said a word. I come here for all sorts of reasons. I came when I received my Silver Star. I came here after my little rendezvous with the dirty nuke. I came here after the conception of the five-year deal. I came here the day of the rose garden. Today I came because the Admiral sent me to the Hill for a meeting with the Chair fo the Arms Committee. I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd stop by and say hi to Dad.  
  
I reach out to touch the familiar letters, and as my fingers slide across the cool stone, the image of an F-4 tailed by and enemy bogey flashes in my mind. I quickly remove my hand, not wanting to replay that scene. Not today at least.  
  
I continue to stare at the black granite in front of me, but my focus shifts to the reflection of myself looking back. For an instant, I swear it is my father's face returning my gaze. It's almost as if he is inside the stone. Maybe he is. Maybe the souls of all 58,022 are locked in here, as permanent as their names on the wall.  
  
I step back and turn my attention to the surroundings around me. To my left, I see a man without his right arm, his graying hair masked by his VFW cover. The look on his face signals that he is lost in memories of a time long ago and a place far away. I've seen that look before, on Admiral Boone when we came here four months ago. Behind me I hear a group of tourists. They've come to pay their respects, but I know that once the overwhelming figure in front of them is removed, so will the emotion. Fifty feet or so to my right, I see a woman holding the hand of a young boy. She brushes the hair out of his face, trying to hold back her tears. I imagine what it will be like when I take my children to see their grandfather. They'll only know him as a name on a wall. I can feel the tears threatening to escape, and I know it's my cue to leave. I told myself I'd never let my father see the tears his absence caused.  
  
I look at the name before my and whisper a soft goodbye. "See you soon," I say. And somewhere deep inside, I know he hears me.  
  
Facing It  
  
My black face fades,  
hiding inside the black granite.  
I said I wouldn't,  
dammit: No tears.  
I'm stone. I'm flesh.  
My clouded reflection eyes me  
like a bird of prey, the profile of night  
slanted against the morning. I turn  
this way-the stone lets me go.  
I turn that way-I'm inside  
the Vietnam Veterens Memorial   
again, depending on the light  
to make a difference.  
I go down the 58,022 names,  
half-expecting to find  
my own letters in the smoke.  
I touch the name Andrew Johnson;  
I see the booby trap's white flash.  
Names shimmer on a woman's blouse  
but when she walks away  
the names stay on the wall.  
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird's   
wings cutting across my stare.  
The sky. A plane in the sky.  
A white vet's image floats  
closer to me, the his pale eyes  
look through mine. I'm a window.  
He's lost his right arm  
inside the stone. In the black mirror  
a woman's trying to erase names:  
No, she's brushing a boy's hair. 


	2. Facing Him

AN: Here's Chapter Two for all those encouraged me to continue with this series. This one is from Harm Sr.'s POV. For this story, let's pretend Harm didn't get arrested for the murder of Singer. Special thanks to Browneyeez for all the help and suggestions.   
  
Facing Him  
  
I see my son standing before me, a distinguished Naval Commander, gold wings shining and JAG insignia adorning his sleeve. I wonder why he came today. I don't think anything significant happened in his life lately. He's been coming here more the last couple of years, to tell me both the good and the bad. The day he came to tell me about the first time he tood his brother up in Sarah was when I knew he had finally accepted the past. It was the first time I saw him truly happy when discussing any of the events or people in his search for the truth.  
  
Today it doesn't seem to be any of these situations though. As he reaches out an touches my name like he's done so many times, I sense the memories going through his mind. His eyes give him away. Ever since my son was six, he's tried to keep his emotions guarded from those close to him. He's done a pretty good job building a wall around himself, but his eyes are the window that allows a person to see what's inside. Few people know this, and ever fewer have made any progress in tearing down the wall. There is that partner of his... It seems this war has created more than one wall.  
  
Now my son has turned towards a woman and her young son. Does he see the past in this simple scene before him? Or does he see the future? My son never had a father. Well, he never allowed himself to have one. I'm sure this seemingly fatherless child in front of him is unsettling for him. I can see the sadness and anger. I see the tears threatening to fall. If I know my son, and I'd like to think I do, he won't ever let himself cry in front of me. He can't bring himself to show that kind of vulnarability. You're not a superhero, son, no matter what everyone else may think. It's ok to be human and cry. I know I have. I've cried knowing that I've made the people I was once close to cry. I cry knowing I've caused them pain.   
  
He's leaving now. Today's visit was not long and nothing major happened, but I'm happy knowing my son is content. He whispers goodbye to me. "See you soon," he says. God I hope not. 


	3. Facing Each Other

AN:  Yes, I know it's been awhile (ok, a really long time) since I updated this story.  I actually had no intention of adding another chapter, but as I was trying to come up with another chapter for my story _What About Now? this popped into my head.  So, here's chapter 3 from Mac's POV._

Facing Each Other

He doesn't know I'm here.  I had to interview a potential witness at the Pentagon.  I knew he was sent to the Hill today, so I thought I'd meet him for lunch.  When I tried to call his cell, I discovered it was off.  There's only one place he goes where he turns his cell phone off.

So here I am, standing about 100 yards away from him, watching him stare at the wall.  He's never taken me here before, and I've never asked.  This spot is intensely personal for him, and I'd never want to intrude on that.  That's not to say I haven't been here; I have.  For some reason, I feel a connection with my best friend's father.  I feel an odd sense of comfort when I'm here.

If you didn't know Harm as well as I do, you wouldn't think it was him here.  He gets this way whenever his father is on his mind.  The eloquent lawyer stumbles over words, if he can get them out at all.  The arrogant flyboy becomes self-conscious and withdrawn.  It's ironic that those who are closest to him are those who fell the most shut out.  I think my partner has finally come to terms with the past though.  Before, he had an odd way of avoiding everything related to his father while being completely obsessed with it at the same time.  Now, I won't go as far to say he embraces the past, but he wouldn't be here now if he was still consumed in his quest for answers. 

Crap.  He noticed the little boy and his mother.  For Harm, seeing them here must be like rubbing salt in an open wound.  I really want to go over to him now and comfort him, but I know that he doesn't want me to see his pain.  It's too late though, Harm.  Your pain is obvious, although probably not completely understood.  Maybe not even by me.  Although it's becoming clearer as I watch you now.  I want to help you, but I know that the only way I can do that for you is to silently be there when you want me to be.   I've learned not to pressure you about your father.  You'll share when you want to.  You reach out and touch his name again, saying something as you do.  It's probably goodbye.  On second thought, it's probably not.  Goodbye is just not in your vocabulary.


End file.
